


A Study In Alchemy: Prelude

by phrozen_feonix



Series: A Study in Alchemy [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Gender or Sex Swap, Multiverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 06:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5082004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phrozen_feonix/pseuds/phrozen_feonix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s managed to keep her easily bored brother, Sherringford, out of trouble. Even if I don’t agree with her methods.</p>
<p>My favourite example is Sherringford’s acceptance into Marcoh University. Considering the boy stated he had no interest in expanding his horizons, as “on-upping the police was far more entertaining than being surrounded by moron for four years,” Mycroft personally delivering the good news struck me as odd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study In Alchemy: Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, my gods... I am out of practice and lack an editor. Apologies ahead of time.

If I may be honest with you, I’ve never drafted anything outside automail blueprints. But as I feel my short existence coming to a close, there are a few tales I’d like to leave behind. Wanting to improve my skills as an engineer and provide better care to my patients, I spent most of my twenties and thirties travelling between Rush Valley and Xing. On a return trip from Xing, I found to ishvalan siblings living in the ruins of Xerxes. 

The oldest, a young girl in her preteen years, stood watch over brother and their meagre fire. Hearing the sand shift beneath my feet, the child stood to face me with a small sharpened stone in hand to defend herself. With a warm smile, I introduced myself, stated I was a doctor, and that she and her brother had no reason to fear me. I reached into my worn knapsack and pulled out a fresh roll of bandages and antibacterial ointment as I knelt by the child’s side. She studied me carefully as I refreshed her blood-soaked and sand-ridden wrappings. Didn’t even flinch when I poured rubbing alcohol over her stump of an elbow. 

I asked her a variety of questions, such as their names, where their parents were, and why they choose to live in the desert of all places. And she answered them in a cool and collected manner, much to my surprise. But… When I asked who or what chopped her arm clean off at the elbow, a mix of sadness and terror painted the child’s crimson eyes. She turned her back from me and wept in silence. As quick as she could the girl wiped the tears away, and whispered a sentence I was all too familiar with: “He’s all I have…”

Leap ahead a decade in a half, and the girl, Mycroft, has grown into a strong young woman with a position in Parliament that she refuses to explain. But I really can’t complain. She’s managed to keep her easily bored brother, Sherringford, out of trouble. Even if I don’t agree with her methods. 

My favourite example is Sherringford’s acceptance into Marcoh University. Considering the boy stated he had no interest in expanding his horizons, as “on-upping the police was far more entertaining than being surrounded by moron for four years,” Mycroft personally delivering the good news struck me as odd. 

Now I’m not totally sold on all the details, as Mycroft was a better storyteller than I, but she told me that she gently persuaded the Dean of Admissions into accepting her brother. As I understand it, she waited a good hour in the hall outside his office. She had an appointment, of course, but that never seemed to matter to the Dean. 

Ever since she and her brother came home with me, she always kept her deep chocolate curls in a tight bob. She never quite explained her hatred for skirts, so all her work attire consisted of dark navy and black jackets and waistcoats. Despite always having the sleeves rolled to just below her underarms, she insisted that all her blouses be white, button downs with longs sleeves. And boots, black leather ankle boots. I suppose that’s one way to make a statement….

Mycroft vaguely mentioned an angry woman storming out of the Dean’s office, threatening to return with her lawyer for some odd reason. The Dean, Elias Ashmole, was a balding man close to retirement age and more than a bit over-weight. He wiped sweat away from his face with a worn steel grey pocket square, the same color as his aging suit.

“Apologies, Mycroft,” the elder started with a half-hearted smile and an outstretched hand,”I hope you weren't waiting long.”

“Miss Holmes, please. And I wouldn’t consider a two-hour wait long,” she quipped, giving his excessively wrinkled hand a firm shake. “I’m grateful for penning our meeting into your busy schedule, Mister Ashmole.” She picked up the two items she always carried with her: a black leather briefcase and a gold umbrella.

The older man shut the white office door behind him and took his seat behind the desk. "Please, Eli." He relaxes back in his chair and folds his hands in his lap. "Now what brings you back to our University? Another Master's degree?"

With a soft smile, the woman shook her head and pulls a file from her briefcase. She places the file open on her desk, a picture of a young man at the top of the small pile. "No, I'm here on behalf of my brother. I'm afraid he's forgotten to put in his application before the due date, and I want to make sure he still has a place at this fine institution."

The Dean leans his head to the side and rubs the bridge of his nose. "I'm so sorry, Miss Holmes, but as it stands our lecture halls are full to the brim and the dorms are over-packed. Even if we could admit him, we couldn't give him a proper dorm. Maybe next year," he said in a low voice, dripping with false disappointment.

“The University spiked tuition, room and board, and the cost of books by nearly three hundred percent in a single year, and students still want to attend?” she asked in a calm manner. “Several Universities, all offering the same courses and more, have opened its’ doors within the last few years. One would think, in order be competitive, prices would go down…”

“Prestige, Miss Holmes. Marcoh University is preparing to celebrate it’s centenary in a few weeks, and we cannot undervalue ourselves,” he replied in an aggravated tone.

“Prestige? I… didn’t realise..,”she started slowly as she reached into her case and pulled out a manilla file with his name written in blood red marker on the desk and opened it. The first page was a recent photograph of the virtually nude Dean and under-age girl kissing at a pool party. Color leaves the man's face as he skims through rest of the papers. “it was prestigious to allow a paedophile to work as an administrator. Of course, that could be your granddaughter, but…,” she paused for a moment and pulled out the page of his file and set it on his desk, “ how many grandfathers do you know that grab their grandchildrens’ ass?”

Elias slid back in his chair, never breaking eye-contact with his guest. She collected the pages and return them to her briefcase.

“Now, before you ask why I would allow my brother to attend a University that harbours paedophiles but rejects homosexuals…” Elias sat up straight and prepared explain, but Mycroft pressed her metal and flesh palms together. “Now, don’t be obvious. The firing of gay religious studies professor due to ‘poor results’ was a farce and you know it. This University monitors each of their professors and administrators’ YourPlace pages, and keeps a record of images, blogs, and bulletin posts made by you and anything you are tagged in. That party photo and the professor’s wedding photos were posted within HOURS of each other. So what makes one better than the other? The former takes advantage of an innocent child, while the latter takes place between two consenting adults. What makes homosexuality worse than paedophilia?”

She crossed her arms across her chest and waited for a reply. Nothing.

“I will be more than happy to keep this little scandal of yours to myself, if,” she reached into her briefcase, pulls out another file, and handed it to Elias, “you accept my brother, fulfill all the requirements within that document…” His shaking hands take the file and enters the younger Holmes info into the over-sized computer on the corner of the desk. He hands the closed file to his guest. She returns it to her case and sets it back on the floor. “print off and sign the acceptance letter, retire early from this University, delete your YouPlace page, and go nowhere near another school or University again. Understood?” 

He nodded, his terrified gaze planted firmly on the floor. 

“Good,” she said with a tiny smirk on her face. “Have a nice day, Mister Ashmole.” She left the door wide open behind her.

Mycroft has always been good about telling me the truth when it came to what she was experiencing from day to day, but I worry to what lengths she would go for her dear Sher.


End file.
